


Stained Glass Eyes And Colourful Tears

by Just_A_Simple_Writer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Worship, Canon-Typical Nonsense, It/Its Pronouns For Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Worship, because most of the sex is vague as fuck, but really should be rated w for what the fuck, rated e for explict, there is a LOT of vague religious nonsense in here be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_A_Simple_Writer/pseuds/Just_A_Simple_Writer
Summary: Gerry sinks to his knees with practiced ease. “I’m yours.”And it’s true. It’s been true ever since they met, when Michael was just Michael, and this game of theirs was nothing more than harmless fun. Just a game, playing at gods and worship.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Stained Glass Eyes And Colourful Tears

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so i have a smidgin of religious trauma that leads to me writing things like this
> 
> what of it

The hallways are dark, far too dark to see, but Gerry supposes that’s the point. Michael doesn’t _want_ him to see. It wants to take him by surprise.

It’s a game the two of them play. Gerry pretends to be lost and Michael hunts him down.

As though it doesn’t know exactly where he is. As if it doesn’t know everything that goes on in these great twisted corridors.

But that’s all part of the game.

It’s following him. He can hear it in the slight echo of his footsteps on the carpet, in the soft sighs that blow through the hall when he traces his fingertips along the wallpaper.

“Hello?” he calls, in mock fear. “Is someone there?”

A laugh echoes down the hall, bouncing off the walls until it sounds as though it’s coming from all around him, surrounding him.

“Hello?”

Another laugh. And then-

“Hello, book-burner.”

Michael’s standing behind him. He can feel it.

He doesn’t turn, though. Not yet.

“What do you want?” he asks, instead.

The answer is the same every time. “You.”

And then he turns.

The hallways are dark, but he can see Michael clearly, the only thing he can see at all. It’s glowing from within, light in a thousand different colours spilling through the interlocking spirals which pass for its skin, and it’s beautiful. Breathtaking.

Gerry sinks to his knees with practiced ease. “I’m yours.”

And it’s true. It’s been true ever since they met, when Michael was just Michael, and this game of theirs was nothing more than harmless fun. Just a game, playing at gods and worship.

It’s different, now. _They’re_ different. The rules haven’t changed, but they’re not only playing, not anymore.

Michael reaches down and tips Gerry’s head up with the tip of one sharp finger. “You think so loudly, book-burner.”

He can’t help the shiver that runs down his back, just from one point of contact. “I’m sorry.”

“Eyes on me.” It laughs, like there’s some joke only it is privy to.

He obeys, of course. Why wouldn’t he?

It’s beautiful. Godlike.

No, not godlike. It _is_ a god, in its own way. A far better god than any other Gerry’s encountered, the only one he’d ever be willing to give himself to.

Kneeling before it like this is almost like being in church, light spilling through some far-off stained-glass window.

This is not some silent, impersonal god, though. This is _Michael_.

“You’re beautiful,” Gerry murmurs. This is the goal of the game, in the end, though it would never tell him to speak, to worship it aloud. It’s almost shy, for all its divinity.

He reaches out, touches its hip. A current not unlike electricity runs up his arm. “So beautiful.”

A hand comes down to rest in his hair, tips his head up to meet its shy, spiralling eyes.

It doesn’t say anything. Just lets him speak.

“Gorgeous,” he says, watching strawberries bloom across its cheeks. “If only you could see yourself the way I do.”

Michael knows, of course. He can have no secrets here, but still words tumble from his lips as he reaches up to link his fingers through its in a gesture that’s only a step removed from supplication.

He doesn’t know how much sense he’s making, but it doesn’t matter. Colours flit across Michael’s face in incomprehensible shapes as its features tumble and rearrange like a glorious, living Picasso.

It’s shy. It’s always been shy, but that’s why they play this game at all. So Gerry can tell it over and over again that it’s a _god_ , that it’s worthy of his praise. One day it might even believe him.

The words get too much for it, in the end, and it silences him with two fingers in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

“So many words are not necessary,” it tells him, and withdraws its fingers.

“Let me worship you in other ways, then.”

It lets him, of course. It’s already weak and wanting, just from the praise. It needs _more_.

He doesn’t know when its clothes disappeared. Maybe it was never wearing any at all.

Gerry is not exactly inexperienced, but Michael is something else entirely, so far removed from any human he’s been with. It’s better, though, so much better.

He knows it so intimately, knows where to kiss and where to touch, how to flick his tongue in just the right way to make it squeal.

And he does, worships it with hands and tongue and mouth until its form is barely coherent anymore, light pouring from the gaps in its body and staining his skin red and orange and yellow and green and blue and purple.

It’s so beautiful and its beauty covers him, almost suffocating as it comes apart under him and over him and around him and inside him, until it comes with a desperate cry and the last vestiges of reality collapse around them. They hold each other as the world swirls endlessly in colours and shapes which cannot and will not exist.

“It’s alright,” Gerry murmurs, into the chaos. “It’s alright.”

_My love, my god, my only._

Michael hears the silent words, of course, takes them right out of his mind and wraps them up in itself and keeps them there, pulsing like a heartbeat.

It’s a long while before the corridors are corridors again.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [tumblr](https://jaysworlds.tumblr.com/)


End file.
